Seed of Evil
by Zandoz
Summary: House of 1000 Corpses fan fictionSee my boy Otis and the rest in action. A journalism student stumbles her way onto the Firefly family. Blood and fun ensues.
1. Default Chapter

Consciousness drifted to her, her sight blurry for a few moments. A room, musty smelling and lit by a crane lamp greeted her, nastily trying to spin. Shaking her head, she discovered she was bound to a wooden chair. The woman jerked this way and that, but other than scooting the whole chair a bit made no headway. Memories came flooding back, of how she got here. Promptly she let out a wail, overwhelmed with the vision in her head of her friend dying in front of her. The woman heard stirring in the next room, then footsteps.  
  
"Well, well, look who's awake!," came a bubbly cheerful voice. The demoness in cutoffs and mane of blonde hair appeared in the sparse room, giggling. "Hi there sweetie!"  
  
"AAAAAAaaaagghhh!!," greeted her.  
  
"Well that was rude," the newcomer observed, cocking her blonde-curled head at the other woman. She stepped forward and grabbed a handful of reddish hair, then yanked. "Cool it, sissy!," she shrieked, obtaining wide-eyed silence. "That's better. Wouldya like to play a game?"  
  
Before the prisoner could reply, more footsteps announced another entering the room. Tall, lanky and sinuous, he reminded her of a pale snake, cool and poisonous. It was him! He murdered Becca! Screaming ensued.  
  
"Shut her up, will ya?," he told the girl. She nodded and twisted her fist in the captive's hair, eliciting a squeal and abrupt end. "Now you be quiet." The man knelt beside her and looked in her face as if searching for something. She was supremely terrified after seeing him kill her friend Becca, but sat transfixed. "This one's been well-fed," he chuckled, causing the blonde to giggle like a child. He poked her belly then an ample breast, saying "Ok young heifer, you listen up. Behave yerself and make no noise, and I won't gut ya and skin ya like the livestock you are. Understand?"  
  
She nodded, afraid to speak. The strange man's rugged face was still close to her own, looking at her. He was unbelievably, deathly pale with thin silvery hair that hung down his back, framing high cheekbones and faded blue eyes. "Baby, go get Mother and tell her the plump lil princess is awake. She wanted to have a good look at her." Baby patted the prisoner's head and strutted off.  
  
"Aww Otis, she's just the cyutest lil thang!," Mother Firefly was purring. "It's bout time you be gettin yerself a girl. Well you know me an Grampa Hugo ain't gonna be around forever."  
  
"Don't start with that pitter patter of little feet again!," growled Otis, pacing the room like a wounded cat.  
  
"Well it's trew! We need a new generation soon. Baby here ain't even married, but she's young yet. You ain't gettin any younger, Otis."  
  
"Just drop it!," he scratched his stomach, then added "We may find a use for her," then he grinned.  
  
snip, snip, snip The woman became aware of scissors cutting something, close to her head. "Wha-," she began, when she was told by the pretty blonde to be still. "You have such pretty hair," Baby crooned. "Purty purty haaayer," snip, snip  
  
"Please..," began the voluptuous redhead. "Please, just let me loose."  
  
"Ssssh," replied Baby, coming away with a handful of wavy reddish hair. "There we go. I did it from the back, so's you can't tell. Mama don' want me to mess up your looks fer some reason."  
  
"What's going on? What do you want with me?," asked the other female, trying not to burst into tears. She was duly slapped, rocking her back in the wooden chair.  
  
"I can still hurt you, missy!," Baby declared, then just as quickly the ire passed, and she giggled. "Oh, we're gonna have so much fuuuuun, you an me." Round light brown eyes filled with dread, her lip quivering.  
  
Chained this time to an old radiator in the same room, Baby was tugging the captive's outer shirt off, holding it up to herself. It was a gaudy flower print in typical bad 70's colors--orange and green. "Boy you are a big un," Baby observed, tossing the shirt aside. Throwing a long shapely leg over the girl's tied-together legs, she sank down on her thighs. "I bet I have something better in the closet for you. You can be mah very own living Barbie doll! Hehehe!" She jumped up and undid the bindings around her legs. "Don't you run away now," Baby cautioned, allowing her to get up. "Otis!," the demented blonde called. "Come in here an' help me!"  
  
After a few moments the man appeared, and the prisoner began to panic. "No! No, not him!" As soon as she was freed from the radiator she made a run for the doorway, but she was caught by a lean arm like a steel bar. She staggered back, then leaped forward again, attempting to bulldog her way past him. He socked her in the jaw, then planted a fist in her gut, doubling her over. Baby, cackling, grabbed her arms and pulled her upright. The woman was much bigger than her and frantically swung Baby around, trying to dislodge her.  
  
Otis grabbed a wrist from Baby's keeping and yanked her arm out, pulling out a huge knife from his back pocket. In a flash half of the fourth finger on her right hand was severed, the bit of finger rolling across the floor a couple feet. She let out an agonized howl and slumped between them. "Man, that one's got spunk!," Otis said jokingly in his gravelly voice. He slung her substantial body across his shoulders, her wounded hand dripping blood on his tight, already-stained bell bottom jeans. Baby clapped her hands happily. Play time!!  
  
_She was taking pictures of the Tree when suddenly they were upon them: a dark-haired behemoth and a platinum-haired slender man wielding crowbars and mallets. Rick went down, his skull crushed, glasses clattering to the ground. Oh God, she thought. The love of her life's blood soaked into the ground around the tree where Dr. Satan had been hung, so the old stories went. Huge arms were around her, she was whirled around and something hit her head. Becca was screaming.  
_  
"What's your name?," asked a male voice. She moaned, opening her eyes. For some reason her right hand throbbed. She tried moving and discovered she was in a different room, perhaps the basement, arms and legs tied to a rickety bed. "What's yer name, heifer?," he repeated, slapping her face, but not too hard.  
  
"Stacy," she managed to say. "Stacy Robins." She felt weight on the bed. It was dim but she could make out the form of the wraithlike Otis smiling at her. "Thanks for the trophy," he said, indicating the finger hanging around his neck as a charm. Her finger. "Now has come the time for your education," he intoned, reminding her of a Baptist preacher. She didn't scream this time, but she sobbed, wondering what was to happen to her.  
  
He began by railing at her about gods and men, Machiavelli and Utopia. Because of the pain and infection she caught little of it over the next few days but she clung to life, if only to spite the Firefly family. The overblown matriarch visited her once and made her drink some nasty-tasting concoction. Mother Firefly, that's what the others called her. Some old man came and shouted something at her, and left laughing riotously. Her thoughts drifted and her dreams were of blood and carnage.  
  
"Come on, girly," someone was pulling her upright and pushing her along. "Time to make yerself useful." Stacy looked up at the dark-haired moving mountain, cringing. She was put to work scrubbing floors and washing dishes, the huge man keeping a hawk eye on her the whole time. All the time she kept wondering, why were her friends murdered, and she left alive to labor? Who were these maniacs?  
  
Stacy was back in the basement before she was aware of the fact her own clothes had been taken from her. She was now wearing a tank top, a cutoff denim skirt and dingy blue Converse all-star shoes with some indentifiable splotches on them. She refused to think about what it was. The young woman heard music drifting down from above and stifled a forlorn wail. Oh God, she said to herself, what am I gonna do? She tugged at her bonds, searching for some kind of weakness. Stacy's ears picked up a body shuffling down the stairs to her room, when her eyes beheld an impossibly tall and rail-thin shape entering the chamber. It was wearing a striped sweater and a mask that appeared stitched-together out of skin.  
  
She started to scream then figured her overtaxed voice wouldn't take it, so bit her lip instead. On a tray the man (she assumed) bore a bowl with something steaming in it. Mumbling something incoherent, he set it down at her feet and backed slowly away. "W-wait," she croaked. "Don't go! Please turn me loose!," but the strange deformed figure was gone. "Dammit," she pouted. Stacy knelt to examine what she'd been brought and found a bowl of thick soup and a wooden spoon. Brain disgusted, it was overridden by her stomach rumbling angrily and she dove in. She even ate the chunks of meat. Sorry if that was you, Rick but I'm STARVING, she told herself. How many days has it been since she'd eaten? It was only after she licked the veggie and unknown meat mixture from the bottom of the bowl that she took notice of the wood spoon.  
  
Stacy broke off the bowl of the spoon and began filing the broken end to a point on the metal clasp on the wall that her chains were attached to. Someone else was approaching before long, and she hurriedly stuffed the spoon handle in a skirt pocket.  
  
It was the albino horror again.  
  
"Helloooo, Stacy," he drawled, feeling jolly. This time he was wearing only the jeans and a ridiculous cowboy hat. Otis approached with a reptilian grace and grinned that awful grin at her again. "Ain't we gonna say hi, bitch?"  
  
"Hello, Otis," she squeaked, trembling.  
  
The white-haired devil backed her against the wall, finally came to a stop and looked her up and down. The sheer maleness of his prescence nearly knocked her down but she stared right back at him. "What's so special bout you?," he asked of no one in particular. "Mother Firefly is under the impression you're not like the rest of the herd." He licked her jaw and Stacy flinched with disgust. Then she felt his hands on her and she reached for the spoon handle. Before his hand reached anything of male interest she jabbed the pointed piece of wood in his neck.  
  
Otis stepped back, pulling the implement out. Stacy had got him in the side of the neck where it meets the shoulder, and it was leaking blood as he threw the spoon handle down. "Well, well," he said, not missing a beat. Stacy merely returned his gaze in abject terror, flattening herself against the wall. "You gonna hurt me with that toothpick? Hahahaha! Yer dumber 'n I thought." He wrapped long fingers around her throat, brought her face close to his. It wasn't hard since she wasn't much shorter than him. "Maybe you'd like ta meet that old buzzard, Dr. Satan. That's what ye came here for, huh? Snoopity snoopin around with yer college friends?" Blood trickled down his arm; he paid it no mind.  
  
"Hey I know," he went on. "Maybe you'd like to see the darkie you came with. She was quite a catch."  
  
"Becca?," she croaked. "I saw you kill her."  
  
Otis grinned. "Come on, princess," he hissed and undid the wall clasp. Jerking her along they made their way upstairs and she didn't resist this time. He pulled her into a large room with shelves filled with jars of dead fetuses, body parts, deformed animals. The highlight was a slab in one corner on which sat what was left of the redhead's friend. She had huge eagle wings attached to her back and feathers covering her head, shoulders and upper arms. Her forearms had been removed and replaced with bird claws. Her smooth brown skin had been preserved, making the deformities even more prominent. "I call this one the Griffen. She was a beaut."  
  
"Becca," Stacy groaned, sinking to her knees. Tears rolled down her round cheeks.  
  
"You sure you haven't seen this girl?," the young man asked, holding the picture up again.  
  
"No I told you, she's never been in this establish_ment_," the big man in clown makeup asserted. "Whut are you, a private investigator? Why don't you mind yer own business? As a matter o' fact, if you don't buy some fried chicken soon yew can kiss mah ass." The conversation in question took place in a roadside gas station/freakshow known as Captain Spaulding's.  
  
The auburn-haired young man replaced the picture back in his coat pocket. "No offense meant, mister. And yes I heard you the first time. It's just that this is one of the few stops on the way to the college." The gentleman's face brightened suddenly. "Wait, what about these people?" He produced a college newspaper with Rick and Becca's picture.  
  
Sighing and rolling his eyes, the short-tempered clown peered at the photo, then looked up at the man. "I did see these two sometime last week. Askin bout the usual Dr. Satan bullshit."  
  
"Really? Do you know where they were goin?," the traveller asked.  
  
"Do I look like a babysitter, son? They kept pokin around here and wantin to take pictures, and to get em off my back I told em how to find the Hangin Tree." He then told the man how to get there.  
  
"Thank you--eh, Captain Spaulding, is it? I appreciate the help," the young man dashed out the door, heading for his car.  
  
"You coulda bought some chicken. Bitch," Captain Spaulding rolled his eyes.  
  
The man looked back briefly once at the billboard which read "Fried chicken and gasoline," before getting in his vehicle. Perhaps he'd find something there of the whereabouts of his sister. It didn't hurt to try.  
  
He started feeling a little uneasy driving down the deserted road, and a bit unsure if he was in the right place. He kept on going, however. There must be someone he could ask, he kept thinking. Minutes later he came upon several police cars, sirens blaring. "Shit," he muttered, coming to a halt.  
  
"Bit outta your way, Sonny?," the cop inquired, obviously impatient for him to be on his way. "This road is closed but the main road is still open. Ah suggest you go that route."  
  
Frowning the young man turned the car around and headed back in the other direction. It was far from over, however. He intended to find out what happened to Stacy.  
  
"What the hell! The sign reads 'fried chicken,' not donuts ye flat-footed sunsabitches!," huffed the humongous clown, eyes taking in the proliferation of police officers in his place of business. The dirty t- shirt he wore read "Shut up, Bitch!" and it matched him.  
  
"We're just asking for a bit of information," the sheriff cooly replied.  
  
"I haven't seen that girl, I done told you!" He was fingering the pistol he had under the counter, wondering if he should use it. He hated cops. "Come on, let's beat it," one of the officers said, irritated. "Dumbass doesn't know anything."  
  
"We've wasted quite a bit of time," the tall sheriff acceded. "I'll send another deputy back out here if nothing else turns up. Later, Spaulding," he turned crisply on his heel, the other cops following him.  
  
"Fuck you," Spaulding answered back.  
  
"Wh-where's Rick? What did you do with him?," Stacy wondered.  
  
"He's in a better place," was the mock-respectful comeback.  
  
"Let me see him!," the woman cried. She recieved a jolting backhand, rattling her teeth in her head. He squeezed her maimed hand, taking her breath away and starting it bleeding again. She was dragged back downstairs kicking and trailing blood and chained to the wall again. She sat despondantly in the dust on the floor.  
  
After a while, time seemed to blend and fold back in on itself. Days went by and turned into weeks. She realized she was in a vast old farmhouse, and she was sometimes fed after doing work around the house, other times 'educated' by Otis, scorned by the hulking darkhaired Rufus Jr. and forced to give piggyback rides for Baby. She was even stripped and photographed with a naked, giggling Baby by Otis, but she was past the point of caring by that time.  
  
When she was more lucid and herself, Stacy came to know the demonic family. Mother Firefly was a hick nympho of the worst sort, dressing most times in little more than lingerie and feather boas but with some plan for Stacy, from the way she cooed and fussed over her. RJ (Rufus Jr), Tiny and Baby were all Mother's children as far as she could tell. Baby was the blonde bombshell and her childish laugh could be heard all over the house. Tiny was the thin giant with the leather mask. Apparantly he'd had some sort of childhood accident.  
  
Grampa Hugo was quite a character, usually regaling her with old stories or dirty jokes. He was pretty nice to her, too...or it could be all in her head. She just wasn't sure anymore.  
  
_Rick's unkempt blond hair fell in his eyes as he looked over the article, making him look more cute. It took little effort to convince him of searching for Dr. Satan. Both journalism majors, they thought this would boost their careers along. And she hoped she could prove to herself she was reporter material. She remembered the first time she kissed him. She remembered the talk they had about getting married after college.  
_  
"Yes I know you're an artist!," Stacy snapped. "You wanna know about being misunderstood?!," then she launched into a tirade about her own alienation and struggle with peers she shared little interest or abilities with. Then she made up a bunch of stuff drawing on everything from Nietsche to social Darwinism, ending with a "You fuckin sick freak!!" As the silence dropped, she realized what she'd done. She was strapped to the chair looking up at Otis. He was gazing back at her with the strangest expression. Then he grinned. Undoing the straps binding her to the chair, he tied her hands together and manhandled her to the bed.  
  
Crawling up her body and through her arms he lay atop her, her hands being bound forcing her to hold him close. Otis's maleness hit Stacy with the force of a Mack truck, and even being repulsed she found herself attracted as well. And the wheels in her mind were turning. As he pressed against she whispered "Untie me." He looked down at her.  
  
"Now why would I do that?," he questioned.  
  
"Because it'll be better," she replied coyly. He disentangled himself from her, got up and and locked the door. Then he pulled out a pocket knife and returned to the bed. Stacy merely watched him, her face still. He cut the ropes from around her wrists then got to work yanking her skirt down. She put her arms around him of her own volition, and when her leaned down to kiss her she parted her lips.  
  
Upstairs, as moans drifted up through the floorboards, Mother Firefly smiled as she knitted, rocking in her rocking chair. Perhaps there _will_ be children in the house again.

Both had dozed off for a bit when knocking at the door had them both jerking upright in the bed. "Otis, what you doin in there?," came Baby's plaintive voice. The doorknob twisted and she knocked some more. "You didn't go an' kill her, did you? Here y'all had me thinkin there was gonna be another girl in the family. Otis? You doodyhead!" When Stacy heard that it finally fell into place why she'd been allowed to live; the clan must have another generation to continue on. Otis and her stared at one another for a moment, then he told her to get dressed. She let him chain her to the wall and watched as he pulled on his bellbottom jeans, watching the wiry muscles under his translucent skin. He unlocked the door and Baby come bouncing in, a big sponge in her hand. Her face brightened when she spotted Stacy. "Bath time!," she burbled.  
  
The wraith known as Otis made his way to one of the upstairs rooms to find a shirt and found Grampa Hugo watching tv and eating a bowl of Cheerios. "I done told you once before, boy," said the old man between bites. "Put me behind the wheel and I'll show you drivin'."  
  
Otis smirked and replied, "Shut up you stupid old fuck. You ain't got it up since the Baby Jesus took his first steps." Hugo grunted and continued eating. " Now boys," cajoled Mother Firefly as she swept into the room. "You need ta get along with each other. I think it'll be wonderful to have a little youngun in the house. Why, it'd be a ray of sunshine on this family."  
  
Otis put on a semi-clean western shirt and shook his head. Mother Firefly had a one-track mind sometimes.


	2. Seduction

The clown with the filthy, toothy grin was arranging his latest attraction, "the Bird Woman" in the exhibition room. Otis called her the "Griffin" but he had no idea what one was, and thought it sounded fruity besides. Otis and his books, Spaulding thought. He heard the bells ring up front signaling someone entering the premises and groaned. If it's those goddamned cops again the shit will hit the fan for sure this time, he said to himself.  
  
"You again?," complained Spaulding, scratching his crotch. "What you want now, you big goofy-lookin prick?"  
  
The auburn-haired young man forced a smile. "I'm buying gas. And I'd like to go on the Murder Ride." _And look around for what happened to Stacy, Rick and Becca. Fuckin lunatic clown._  
  
"Ohhh, you would, huh?," he chuckled, suddenly very helpful. "Well step right up!"  
  
"Can I see the freak show first?"  
  
"Why, shore," Spaulding answered, his shark tooth grin at its fullest. A few moments later if anyone else had been around, they would've heard a man screaming "Becca!" and some dull wet thuds coming from the back room of Captain Spaulding's Fried Chicken and Gasoline.  
  
Spring had already melted into summer by the time Stacy's unfortunate brother had ran afoul of a certain clown, and she had worked her way up the food chain, so to speak. She worked in the fields, she fed the animals, she pleased Otis and pretty much had the run of the place. RJ and Tiny kept a sharp eye on her, however, like two great vultures waiting for something to keel over. Stacy couldn't believe the things she did, but their were reasons for most of it. The ratty curtains and bedsheets and butcher-shop smell no longer bothered her; she had learned to get along with her captors. She found that she loved Otis, the man who had killed her fiance and best friend, and was unsure of how something like that occurred. They actually had meaningful conversations about subjects they both were interested in and he didn't wear her severed finger around his neck as much. She missed Rick, and her sanity as well. Sometimes it felt as if she was in a dream.  
  
"Stacy," he called to her, unlocking the door to her room and opening the door. "There's somethin I wanna show you," his lips curled into a smile. He was wearing a cowboy hat, flannel shirt and torn jeans. Old bloodstains creased them in places.  
  
She took his hand and followed him to one of the older rooms, where he rummaged in a closet and came out with a leather case, like a suitcase. He opened it and inside nestled in padding and felt was an assortment of metal implements. They appeared old, and indeed they were, being finely crafted instruments of 19th century origin. Knives, scalpels, forceps, and even the bonesaw was ornate and well-tended. "This is an heirloom," he began, taking out a wicked-looking knife and gazing at it. "Brought over from Whitechapel, England."  
  
Stacy didn't understand at first. "The Fireflys are from England?"  
  
"Don't be an idiot, princess. They've been here fer time out of mind. No, my granddad came over last century. Some call him Jack the Ripper, and these were his prized posessions."  
  
The young woman swallowed, observing how easily he held the surgical tools, knowing they had been used on human beings, and not to heal. Oh God, what had she gotten herself into? "They're to be passed on to my children," he went on. "_Our_ children." Stacy had neglected to tell them she was barren, it may be what's keeping her alive. Otis replaced the tools and closed the case, putting it back in the closet. "The ol' boy was employed by Her Royal Fucking Highness to take care of anti-monarchy factions back in the late 1800's. Seems he liked his work a bit too much," he snorted. "He was an artist. Like me."  
  
Stacy licked her lips. "Misunderstood?," she ventured.  
  
"Yeah, heh," he affirmed. "Didn't go in the sun much, an' I don't either. Must run in that side of the family." He walked toward her, a glint in his pale eyes. He slipped his hand under the peasant blouse she was wearing, found her large round breasts and cupped them. Stacy sighed in response, allowing him to touch her. His mouth found hers, thin white hair falling over her face. "You don't turn away," he spoke softly, sounding surprised.  
  
"I won't ever turn away," she breathed, helping him undo her blouse. _God help me, I'm attracted._  
  
"Mama," murmured Baby, her blonde head in Mother Firefly's lap, who was painting her nails a garish shade of pink. They were both on the battered couch in the main living room.  
  
"Yeah, Baby?"  
  
"Otis won't share Stacy."  
  
"Well Baby, he likes her," Mother told her. "They need ta spend time together." Almost on cue, grunts and moans could be heard from upstairs.  
  
"Mama," went Baby again, fidgeting with the hem of Mother's nightgown.  
  
"What is it, sweetie?"  
  
"I'm horny."  
  
"Oh sweetheart, some more people will be along directly, then you can have as much fun as you want," assured the older woman, blowing on her nails to dry them. "We are getting low on entertainment. And roast. Well, don't you worry, RJ will round up somethin soon."  
  
Grampa Hugo moseyed into the living room and turned on the tv, plopping down in a sofa. The sounds of pleasure in the upstairs room grew in intensity. "Damn," he said to no one in particular, "That's makin me horny."  
  
"Sweet fuckin monkeyballs," Otis exclaimed after his orgasm, both of them drenched in sweat.

Stacy was making him soft; he was never one to get all googly-eyed over some broad. Especially one that was still kicking. Most chicks thought him a freak. Baby never did, but she was family. He smoothed a strand of red hair back on her head, looked into round light brown eyes that were almost gold and found them looking back. When they separated they realized he'd banged her right on the lone table. Stacy pulled up her shorts, surprised at her audacity. Ah well, what's between her legs could mean life or death for her. But how could she enjoy it so?  
  
A few days later RJ and Otis left the house for a while, leaving Stacy wondering what was going on. Little did she know they were picking up human cargo from Captain Spaulding.  
  
Hidden eyes observed the two leaving in RJ's tow truck, dust kicking up as they departed.  
  
The person the dark grey eyes belonged to slipped closer, staying in the brush. After a while the front door opened and a big tall girl appeared, followed by a shambling giant in a tattered shirt and mask. The girl was dressed in work pants and a tiny t-shirt, red hair falling down her back, arms strong and tanned. The lanky tall guy was then followed by a scantily dressed older woman with a puffy bow in her blonde hair, who sat on the porch sipping on iced tea.  
  
The young lady proceeded to weed and hoe the garden under the watchful eyes of the other two. She handled herself in swift, sure strokes--a far cry from the sheltered chubby girl she had been earlier. He--the observer, for it was a he--inferred that she wasn't related to the others, for he had watched them before though it had been some time. He'd almost been caught, and he couldn't have that. He'd been at this far too long to mess it up. If the girl was a prisoner, he had to help her if he could.  
  
"Well sugar," came a bubbling voice behind him. "Are yew a peepin tom?"  
  
He whirled and saw the blonde devil he'd seen before, angry at himself for being taken by surprise. Crazed blue-green eyes regarded his own grey ones. "Whatcha plan on doin with that?," she pointed at the handgun on his hip. He pulled the gun, but she was even faster knocking it from his grip. She was inhumanly quick, dodging the blow aimed at her head and nailing him with the ball peen hammer she'd had hidden in the back of his head. Dirty blond hair was stained red as he slipped into darkness. "Hahahahahahaha!," she cackled, bringing Mother Firefly off the porch.  
  
"Baby? Whut's goin on?," the matriarch asked, making her way through the cluttered yard full of trash, old tires and car parts. "My oh my! What a catch you have. Oh he's a young one!," she exlaimed, nudging the powerful- looking man with a dainty foot. "Oh I'm so proud o' you Baby."  
  
"I love you Mama," she purred.  
  
"I love you too, Baby," Mother smiled her yellow-toothed smile.  
  
"Who you talking to?," Stacy asked, approaching them and wiping sweat from her brow. She saw a heavily armed man slumped at the female Fireflys' feet, blood pooling around his head.  
  
"We got another visitor!," said Mother Firefly with glee. "Help Baby get him in the house and trussed up." Her heart leaping up her throat, she did as Mother Firefly told her, helping Baby to relieve him of his weapons and fasten him to a chair. God, what were they going to do with him? And why did he come here in the first place?  
  
"Yep, you can take 'im on," declared Spaulding, scratching his straggly beard. He wasn't in clown getup this time, his face looking the worse for having no greasepaint on it. "Be glad to get rid of the nosy fucker. He can ride YOUR nuts a while!," he guffawed.  
  
"He's a big un," RJ observed. He was a man of few words, but sometimes he could wax eloquent when the notion hit him.  
  
"Uh uh," agreed Otis, gazing at the inert young man. He somehow looked familiar...but he couldn't place it. "Well you ol' bitch-hawg, what'll I owe you?"  
  
"I jus wanna see his stuffed fat ass in the corner right over there, for bein sucha pain in my ass."  
  
"I'll see what I can do," mused Otis, motioning RJ to pick up the boy and carried him around back to the tow truck. He was tied hand and foot, so he wouldn't be going anywhere. Baby will be sooo happy, Otis thought.  
  
_Becca smiled, her beautiful smile making Stacy a bit jealous. "You may be right. We could get some cool pictures, interview some locals, write up a big story. Ace that final project...."  
  
"Get a jobby-job," Stacy finished, giggling.  
  
"Yeeeah, girl," Becca popped a french fry in her mouth. Stacy couldn't help but love her, her best friend since high school.  
  
he scene changed; she heard Becca screaming and was fighting someone who grabbed her from behind. The black girl's screams cut off after a vicious whack_.  
  
Stacy jerked awake, the now-familiar faded wallpaper of her room greeting her as she raised her head. The still, dozing form of Otis was nestled beside her, wiry arm thrown across her. Her round face took on a look of exasperated affection. He'd tuckered himself out yesterday and last night, and she wondered what this present was that he'd brought Baby. She eased out of the rickety bed, padding down the hall in just her t-shirt. Entering the kitchen she took a glass from the drainer and turned on the faucet.

"Up already?," asked Grampa Hugo from the kitchen table, eating (surprise) a heaping bowl of cereal. "Figured Otis kept you up all night," he chuckled. Stacy seated herself across from him with her glass of water, silent. She felt she understood the old bastard better than anyone else. Her sanity was almost as cracked as his, and he was probably senile besides.  
  
"Personally, I think a mature man with experience is much more attractive," she told him with a straight face.  
  
Grampa stopped in mid-bite, beady eyes riveted on her. Then they both started guffawing. "Silly girl. You just be glad I ain't 20 years younger."  
  
"More like 40," interjected a shirtless, even more tousled than usual Otis, coming into the room.  
  
"Eh, go fuck yerself you brainless basterd," Hugo exclaimed, shaking his fist at Otis.  
  
"Don't make me whoop your ass in front of the lady." Otis burst out laughing, shaking his head. He threaded his arm around Stacy's waist. "We got some things to attend to," he said softly in her ear.  
  
When she walked through the doorway, the man was awake and lucid, tugging at his bonds keeping him in the chair. The same chair she'd been strapped to when she first arrived here. Baby had had some fun yesterday, Stacy could hear her cackling and moans of pleasure coming from the other room while she was having a bath. Now the young man sat terrified in the chair, his clothes loosely pulled back on him, an eye socket empty of one pretty eye. Otis produced a straight razor, holding it in front of the prisoner's face and eliciting muffled screams from behind his gag.  
  
"Come 'ere, Stacy," he spoke, and she slowly obeyed. "Time for you to truly be part of the family." He put the razor in her right hand, the one missing half a finger. She looked down at the stranger, met his terrified gaze. He shook his head, tears coming out of his good eye. "Come on," Otis goaded. "Cut this vigilante wannabe. Educate him. Come on! Do it!" The lanky albino grabbed her hand and brought it down, forcing her to slice the guy's chest. The sharp blade went easily through shirt and skin, and the captive bucked and struggled in his chair as blood ran down the front of his shirt.  
  
"No!," protested Stacy, trying to twist away but riveted to the sight of the crimson trickle.  
  
"Look at him!," barked Otis. "He thought he was a big-shot, but he's stupid an' soft. Like you was before, but now yer not. He wanted to start some shit, and now he's got it. Give it to him. Give it to him!!" His hand still clamped around hers, he guided her to the man's arms, his thighs, cutting and slicing. Stacy's mind went blank and turned in on itself, and when some time passed she was doing it on her own, painting her arms and the floor red, red, scarlet filled her whole vision. Otis clapped his hands, cheering.  
  
Suddenly the red fog lifted and she ceased, casting her eyes downward, looking at her hands. The razor clattered to the floor, splattering blood on her bare feet. "Oh God," she moaned, then smacked her lips, surprised at the coppery taste. Wiping her mouth, she found she had blood on her face. Had she licked the blood from the blade? "No! Oh God!" She ran sobbing from the room, Otis's laughter following her to her little room, her own space where she stripped off her clothes and huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth.


	3. Betrayal

"Oh but she's a delicate thing," Mother Firefly tsked over the near- comatose girl. "Baby, help me clean her up."  
  
They sponged Stacy clean and put a tank top, jeans and a flannel shirt on her. Baby for once was solicitous and concerned, and tried to get her to respond. "I know how you feel, darlin," soothed Mother, humming off and on. "You remind me o' how I was before I came here, alone and afraid." The pair of women had put her to bed when Otis came looking for her, causing her to shriek and thrash. He stepped back, confusion and (could it be?) hurt on his angular face. Then he stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.  
  
She went very still and white, her golden eyes focusing on him. "You'd best get a grip," he said coldly, but he bent down and planted his own full lips on hers. He left and headed up to his own room, mumbling to himself. For the next few hours the redhead lay motionless, until vivacious Baby came back in to see her.  
  
"Hey, lemme show you my present!," said Baby in her high-pitched voice. Tugging on her arm, the tall, slim blonde dragged her to one of the back rooms. Opening the door, she was confronted with the site of a rawboned young man with auburn hair chained to the wall, unconscious. Her heart dropped to her feet. "T-tom?," she breathed. Her brother..how?  
  
Baby had bounded forward to press herself against the lad, and luckily didn't hear. Stacy clapped a hand over her mouth, a scream trying to force itself out her throat. She dashed from the room, feeling physically ill. Her over-traumatized mind reached down deep for a last reserve buried inside her, and steeled herself for what must come next. She went to Otis, having raided RJ's liquor cabinet and had a wild romp, herself staying relatively sober as she plied him with booze and sex. After he had passed out, she waited for the rest of the Firefly family to go to sleep. Slipping out of bed she donned her clothes again and crept as silently as she could to the stranger's room, hoping he was still alive. She couldn't believe what she'd done to him, his clothes and skin cut pretty badly. He stirred as she came closer to him, opening his working eye and twitching. He was alive! For the moment.  
  
"Shhh," she went, her round cheeked face full of pity. "I'll remove the gag, and don't make a sound or we're both death." She doubted he was inclined to trust her, but she's the only option the man has. Undoing the gag, he gulped many deep breaths, regarding her with a chilly stare. "What's your name?," she asked very softly.  
  
"Jim," he rasped, unsure of what was going on.  
  
"I'm Stacy," she went on. "I'm going to let you loose, but I want you to stay here until I get my brother. If you do anything, they will kill you. Slow. Then--," she hesitated. What exactly was she going to do? Leave with them, she supposed. She really didn't belong here, and the guys would need her help besides. "Then we'll all leave together," she finished, working his bonds free.  
  
Stacy tiptoed down the hall to the room her brother was being held in, easing herself in. She looked at Tom, noticing blood on his head and bruises on his face. Holding back sobs she nudged him, whispering "Tom. Tom?" He groaned and rolled his head, eyes finally fluttering open. He beheld his beloved long- lost sister, tanned and strong-looking. She was different from the bubbly chunky college girl he remembered, wearing a haunted look as well. She reached up to touch his face when he jerked.  
  
"Stacy? Your hand!," he saw the stump of her ring finger, unevenly healed. "Dear Lord, what have they done to you?"  
  
"Never you mind," she replied, aware she sounded a bit like Mother Firefly. "We're getting outta here." She produced a set of keys and went to work on Tom's shackles.  
  
With the two gentlemen on either side of her she guided them through the maze of the house, stumbling at times. Stacy's breathing was loud she thought, when her scalp began to crawl. Somebody was behind them.  
  
"WHERE THE HELL DO YE THINK YER GOIN??," roared Otis, staggering toward them.  
  
Whirling, she saw a naked, trashed Otis completely enraged coming down the hall, butcher knife in hand. Jim being drained stumbled to the floor, covered in blood. All color was leached from the girl's face, unsure of what to do next. The ghost-man engaged Tom, shouting obscenities and attempting to stab him. As he got a good look at Tom, it fell into place. "You're her brother," he said drunkenly, "No wonder you look alike. Get back here!," he snarled, brandishing the blade again. Tom was larger and broad-shouldered, but he was a product of a soft life as Stacy had been, and Otis possessed incredible strength for his size. Tom wrested the weapon from Otis's grip and was going to stab him with it when Stacy exclaimed "NO!" She got between the two, glaring at her tormentor/lover.  
  
"Traitor! Bitch!," he growled, grappling with her. They shoved each other back and forth, his sinewy form making her body remember the pleasure they shared before. She had never pitted her strength against his, and was surprised at both their ferocity. "Get out!," Stacy called to her brother. "Get Jim and yourself out! Go!" "Stacy!," Tom sobbed, gathering the wounded vigilante and starting for the exit.  
  
With preternatural strength he yanked at her left arm. "OWWWWwwwww!," she cried as her arm came out of its socket, dangling limp. She kneed him in the side and felt a couple ribs give away, then tried to run. He caught her by her hair and slammed her against the wall. "I'll make you squeal," Otis slurred, bending her over and tearing at her pants. He entered her while she was holding her damaged arm and she yelped as he used her. She didn't know what else to do but let him do as he would, afraid her arm would be useless now and that her life was forfeit. After a what seemed a lifetime of pain and torment he shuddered in climax, thrusting the last few times inside her. Clutching her hair, her pants still around her ankles, he dragged her to one of the holding rooms and locked the door. Stacy piteously cried herself to sleep, huddled in a corner.  
  
The next morning she opened her eyes, then opened her mouth and vomited profusely, surprised that she was sick. With her good arm she pulled her jeans up and fastened them, discovering that her arm was still painfully out of its socket. Wiping the last few tears from her face, she tried the door and found it open. Peeking out, she saw no one in the hallway so took a few halting steps. Nothing. She went farther--still nothing. Was this a trick?  
  
In the upstairs living room she came upon Rufus Jr. filing some knife blades and listening to the radio--"Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing. The dark-skinned behemoth looked up as she entered the room, dark eyes roaming over her disheveled appearance.  
  
"RJ," she said nicely. "I need you to do something for me."  
  
His expression was a question.  
  
"I need you to pull on my arm to put it back in it's socket."  
  
He cocked his head toward her, baffled by the request. "Come here," she told him, and he got up and went close to her. "Take my arm, and when I say go, pull real hard." He grasped her arm, and she shouted "Go!" when he yanked, she twisted and she felt her arm settle back into place. It hurt and felt good at the same time. She was thoroughly satisfied when she looked up and saw RJ smiling sweetly at her. " Oooh, no," she protested. "You get that idea outta your head now. I'll fuckin work in the garden, plantation, whatever the hell that thing is. You just stay off me." RJ's face dropped. She went to the bathroom and threw up again. Oh man, what's wrong with me, she thought, and hoped her brother and Jim had gotten away. RJ poked his head in the bathroom, snickering, "Hope ye had a good reunion last night, missy. Baby will have control over brother dear from now on," he said, obviously relishing it.  
  
She hung her head after he'd gone but no tears came this time. Who was she, what was she anymore? What should she do now?  
  
She was relieved after RJ departed, leaving her alone. _How much more can I take?_

"Darlin, you really did a number on me," chuckled a familiar voice. She turned and saw Otis in the doorway of the bathroom, bare from the waist up. His whole right side of his ribcage was bruised and swollen, stark against his pasty skin.  
  
Rubbing her throbbing shoulder, she returned, "I could say the same about you." But they both knew she referred to the sexual assault of the night before. His well-formed upper lip sneered at her, making her breath come in deep, labored gasps as her fury rose. "Why do you keep doing these things to me? Why do you want me around? Why?!," she demanded to know. Otis said nothing but merely raised a slim-fingered, pale hand and stroked her reddish hair. This caused her to shudder in frustation, vowing, "If you ever try to force me again, I will kill you. I don't care what it takes but I will make you scream your whore of a mama's name then I will kill you." Glaring up at him.  
  
She expected his unpredictable wrath but recieved snickering. "That's the spirit! You are one o' us," he said. "That steel under all that whimperin n' blubber, I brought it out. You can thank me fer that, Stacy. You're my greatest work, darlin. But the greatest is still to come," he spoke, laying his other hand on her belly.  
  
"Otis? Otis B. Driftwood, I need to tawk to yeww," called Mother Firefly from downstairs, obviously looking for him. The clack of her high heels could be heard as she went to and fro.  
  
"Awright, awright, Jesus!" Agitated he was gone in a second, leaving the horror of the his meaning to seep into Stacy's bones. She couldn't be pregnant, could she? She'd miscarried Rick's baby and was told she'd never have any children.  
  
"Aaagh, God!," she screamed to no one, beating the old sink with her good arm. "I can't do this anymore! It's too much! God help me," she wept, expecting none to hear. She heard moaning from the room adjacent to the bathroom and she stopped to listen. Swallowing, she crept out the bathroom and peeked next door. Sure enough, it was her brother tied to a chair and gagged. Baby had used him pretty badly, if the state of his clothes and the multiple gashes were any indication. She rushed to him, yanking the gag out of his mouth and trying to keep down the lump in her throat.  
  
"I think Jim got away," he croaked, the man's youthful face crusted with blood. "I shouldn't have left you."  
  
"Oh, Tom," she wiped his face with her shirt. "You could hear, couldn't you? What you must think of me," then she finally burst into tears.  
  
"You think I blame you for anything?," Tom rasped. "Did you ever think that this may be the only way you'd have a child? There's a reason for everything, Stace." He knew how hard the miscarriage was on her and how much she wanted to have children someday. She started tugging at his bonds when RJ and Baby burst into the room, wielding ropes and revolvers.  
  
"Time to go!," announced the blonde.  
  
"Wha-? Where you taking him?," asked Stacy.  
  
"He's havin the pleasure of meetin Dr. Satan," she replied with glee, her childish laugh ringing out.

--More to come soon! Thanks!--


	4. Escape?

The mismatched procession made its way across the field that night, some of the figures carrying lanterns. The females were draped in dark flowing dresses. Otis was dressed in combat boots, stained white t-shirt and a red checkered hunting vest One of them, Stacy in fact, was being led by Tiny, the deformed giant. Her wrists were tied together and attached to a rope that the lanky Tiny held. She was unusually compliant, which Otis took for a bad sign and so had her bound. Mother Firefly had been floating on air after hearing that Stacy might be having a baby and too happy to be angry with her. A bulky figure stumbled and was kicked and taunted by Baby, her high voice going more shrilly. "Come on, young bull!," went Mother Firefly, laughing along too. "I bet you all make such strong, purty children."  
  
After half an hour or so they reached what looked like an abandoned well. "Ok, kids," intoned Otis, setting down his lantern. "Separating family members is a solemn occasion. Which is why I told RJ not to bring no hooch," he chuckled. He faced Tom, saying, "Sorry son, but Baby is done with you. Say hi to Dr. Satan while yer down there." The young man's eyes went wide, and he frantically started struggling, but RJ had a inexorable grip on him.  
  
"Let's git on with it," complained Grampa Hugo. "I'm missin the Munsters on tv."  
  
Without further ado the hatch was thrown open and Tom was bundled into a wooden box and lowered into the black abyss. "NOO!," hollered Stacy, straining toward the opening, but Tiny kept a reign on her. "Damn you!," she cursed them. Then her mouth dropped when she heard her brother's frantic screams. "Tom!," she cried, and jerked free of Tiny. An astonished Otis watched as she, without hesitating, dove down the well head- first. Air whizzed past her head and with her still-bound hands took hold of the rope that had lowered her brother. Wincing at the massive rope burn she slowed to a stop, still about 10 feet above the ground. She let go, splashing into shallow water. A few torches gave off some sparse light but she could make little out.  
  
"Tom!," she called, heart thudding in her chest. "Where are you? Please! Tom!" She heard movement all around her, but could make out a faint "Stacy!," coming from in front of her at some distance. She began to make her way toward Tom's voice when hands were all over her, tearing, grabbing. "Uuugh!," she spat, pushing at them. They were about 15 humanoid, shambling shapes with dribbling mouths and empty eyes from what she could see by the faltering light.  
  
"Stacy!," roared Otis from up above. "STACY!!"  
  
"Fuck you!," she hurled back. "Fuck all of you!" She broke free of the zombies and took off down a cold dank passage, calling for her brother. Her heavy dress clung to her where it was wet, making it hard to run but run she did, slippered feet slapping on the hard ground. Turning a corner she ran smack into the large body of her sibling, a tiny scream hitching in her throat.  
  
"Stace, is that you?"  
  
"Yeah, oh God, Tom! What happened?," she said while hugging him.  
  
"These things grabbed me and pushed and pulled me along. One took my flannel shirt and another untied my ropes. I didn't appreciate being groped in a cave that I've been thrown down by the Adams family from hell. Let's find a way outta here." Looking back down the tunnel at the strange life she'd made for herself she nodded and they both made their way forward.  
  
"There's somebody!," whispered Stacy. Sure enough, someone was coming toward them, dragging one leg behind them. "Hello?," she hailed. The man muttered and seemed to be trying to speak, but couldn't. After a few fruitless moments he continued on, heedless of the siblings' entreaties.  
  
Deeper and deeper the pair went, at times feeling their way down the halls, growing more despondant by the minute. Voices and rumbling machinery could be heard at times, but mostly faint and/or far away. The odors of earth, rot, and rust filled their nostrils as they moved along, their breath seeming to echo off the walls.  
  
Then they came to a set of double doors, which they threw open in hopes of an exit. Harsh light and sterilized surroundings greeted them, making them squint. The large chamber looked somewhat like a lab, if you discounted the bloodstains covering parts of the wall. In the corner sat, like some gross malformed spider, the man--Dr. Satan. A breathing mask covered the lower half of his face, his leathery scalp bare and splotchy in the bright light. Mechanical appendages sprouted from parts of his body, tipped with nasty-looking utensils that moved in seeming agitation as he spied them. This person who was supposed to have died by mob justice, was there before them a hideous amalgamation of tissue and metal. And laughing. Rusty, gravelly laughter could be heard from behind the mask, overjoyed at the prizes which walked right onto his doorstep.  
  
"Welcome," he hissed, and Stacy winced at the sound. "This will be your last stop."  
  
Quickly glancing around the girl spotted a side door, and motioned to Tom. "Come on, let's try that door." They ran toward the door, trying to avoid the evil doctor. Mechanical arms whipped out at them, some still dripping blood and fluids. They both ducked and Stacy stumbled, grabbing at Tom's ruined khakis. He gripped an arm without even slowing down and dragged her after him, Stacy gibbering with fright. She could hear the whir of machinery and creak of old bones behind her, signalling Dr. Satan wasn't about to let them go.  
  
Thankfully the door opened and the pair leapt through and kept running, unsure of where to go but uncaring at that point. Dr. Satan's howls of frustration could be heard behind them, then he seemed to be giving orders to someone. That put fire behind them and they pushed on.  
  
They ran until their lungs burned and sides were heaving, and Stacy felt a bit nauseous. Stopping to rest she squatted and gasped, her heart pounding like a jackhammer. It was almost pitch black but she heard her brother breathing deeply beside her. After a few minutes their breathing slowed, allowing the fear to rise again. "Tom," she ventured, resting her head on his big shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to get involved in this mess."  
  
"You think I'd give up on my little sister?," he told her, attempting to be light-hearted.  
  
"Besides, what else am I gonna do? Keep workin at the garage? Pssshhh," he scoffed. He had been somewhat of a disappointment of the family, his younger sister Stacy attending college and behaving while he...didn't. Laying out all night, failing school and working when it suited him consisted of most his activities, but when his sister disappeared his lethargy evaporated. They then agreed it was time to get moving again. Then they heard it: footsteps behind them. Covering her mouth she dashed on behind her brother, wondering if they'd ever get out of this place.  
  
Suddenly a hulking figure slammed into Tom, knocking him against the wall. Her vision had attuned to the near-dark, and she could see the masked creature carrying a huge mallet. Some kind of armor covered most of its body, round goggles on its face. It mouthed strangled noises, wheezing heavily as it swung the mallet down on Tom. "Noo!," Stacy screamed, pulling frantically on the thing's arm. The mallet head came crashing against the wall, inches from Tom's skull and chipping rock from the wall. It turned and planted a half-metal fist in her chest, sending her backwards gasping for air. Tom tried punching its face and it was like hitting a steel beam. The monster raised the weapon again and the lad took hold of it, preventing its use.  
  
More creatures could be heard coming toward them, wheezing and grunting. Stacy had wobbily gotten to her feet, coughing and wondering if her collarbone was broken, then went to her brother's aid. "Stacy, no! You gotta get out. Go!," he shouted to her.  
  
"What?! I can't leave you, Tommy," tears were pouring down her face. Dr. Satan's other minions were almost upon them.  
  
"You have two lives to worry about," he gasped while he grappled with the creature. "Let my sacrifice mean something. I love you, Stace. Now GO!!"  
  
"I love you, Tom." Tears blinding her vision, she tore down the right- handed tunnel, voicing her anguish as she did so. "Yaahhhh!," she yelped a few minutes later, splashing into a body of water. The unexpected dunking galvanized her again when she'd been about to give up. Floundering about a bit, she began making her way forward, praying that there wasn't a wide span of water. She lost her slippers while swimming, gulping quite a bit of what she hoped was semi-clean water in the process. As her limbs began burning with fatigue her feet touched ground, then she gratefully stumbled onto dry land. She looked up and saw a thin shaft of light shining down on her face.  
  
"Oh please," she prayed aloud. _Let it be a way out._ Poking about she found debris, timber, rocks, car hoods and proceeded to stack them. Fear and anger fueled her now, pitying anyone or anything that would stop her. Fifteen minutes of work she climbed up the unstable platform grasping an old shovel handle she'd picked up. When she reached the ceiling she jabbed, forcing through the thin cover of this part of the caverns. Dirt, wood and stones fell in on her but she kept on, making an opening big enough to climb through. Heaving her large frame upwards she flopped herself into the outside world in the sunshine, where she vomited and rolled over, exhausted.  
  
_Rick bent down to kiss her, smiling his little-boy grin. "My lovebunny," he soothed. "Time to get up. You have to go on."_  
  
The hot summer sun beating down on her face woke Stacy, feeling sick and disoriented. She had eaten very little the day before, but threw up some food and bile anyways. Sobbing and gagging she sat up, her dirty, still- damp dress hanging on her. _Must get to a phone, a hospital, somewhere.  
_  
Fingers were in her hair, she squealed in surprise and Otis was beside her in the dust, wearing a wifebeater t-shirt and ripped jeans. Looking into his face she expected his insane rage, and anger was there but there was something else: pain. She pushed at him but his lean arms went around her, preventing her from getting away. Overwrought, she spent her grief over her brother in the arms of the man who'd been the source of his downfall and had murdered her fiance. He said nothing, and he took nothing this time but gave. Perhaps because he knew she was leaving.  
  
"You're mine," he said. "You belong with me."  
  
"I belong to no one, thanks to you," was the reply. She was about to say she loved him and would stay when he was hit and propelled forward, head landing in her lap. Standing over them was someone she finally recognized after a moment--Jim, the man she'd help saved, all the worse for wear. His clothes were in tatters and face swollen beyond belief. He held his hand out to her, after a moment's hesitation she took it and stood.  
  
"AAAaarrrgh!," the wraith snarled, addled. Jim and Stacy started running, the man barely able to limp along. He dropped the stone he'd brained Otis with and grasped that side of Stacy's dress. Otis got to his feet, growling, "Bitch, go ahead an' run! Go back to bein a rabbit!" His not- very-masculine voice rolled across the widening distance between them. "RUN, RABBIT, RUN!" Otis was at a loss, for once. Was this what heartbreak felt like? Well, it was the pits and those silly pansy cheerleaders and Malibu Barbies could keep it! Love, yeah fuckin right. He craved a drink.  
  
Half a day they'd been stumbling down the road, wishing for someone to pick them up or another house to stop at. Drained, they sat under a tree beside the road. Jim's leg was broken, he was missing half an ear and one eye; Stacy's hands were raw and her whole chest a blackening bruise. The stump of her wounded finger had healed long ago, but looked worse than it really was. Eventually they were picked up by a shocked farmer and taken to the local clinic, where they were then transported to a good hospital. Police came and talked to them, then men in white coats tsking and shaking their heads. Jim Baker was whisked to a veteran's hospital when it was learned he'd served in Vietnam. Both were written off as crazy--nobody believed them. Oh, the police did a perfunctory investigation but came up with nothing, of course. Some of the officers even came back smiling with pink lipstick on their faces. Stacy learned to just drop it when she tried to convince people of her ordeal after having a brief stay in a mental hospital.  
  
Several months later she was back in a hospital setting, crying out against all the gods and men in the world as she struggled to give birth. Ten hours into the labor Stacy slumped and the attending physician held up a perfect baby boy. Every purple vein could be seen under his translucent skin and he let loose an enraged howl. Stacy's parents, who'd come just in time, looked at each other, baffled.  
  
When she came to a nurse placed the bundle of joy in her arms and she smiled. His skin was much better after getting warm, but his round baby head was topped with a fluff of white hair. Little Orion Thomas Robins had a proud mother and thoroughly disturbed but loving grandparents.  
  
Fall, 1981--  
  
Four-year-old Tommy colored in his coloring book while Stacy worked on her next article on her old typewriter. After having a bestselling book based on her misadventures she bought a nice little house near the city and put a swingset out front for her son. She had finished college, worked as a waitress, become an author all while juggling being a mother. A not quite mentally stable one, at that. "Look, Mom," Tommy said, showing her his picture. He'd drawn dinosaurs in the coloring book on a picture of bunnies frolicking in a field. One of the dinosaurs was biting down on one of the happy bunnies and he'd used quite a bit of the red crayon.  
  
Ah that's my boy, she thought, giggling. "Good job," she praised. He was sturdy like her and had her soft brown-gold eyes but his hair was straight and near-white. His face, too was finely chiseled for a small boy and he had his father's mouth and nose. He didn't seem to mind not having a dad around so much. She'd told him his father died before he was born and showed him pictures of Rick. It won't hold water for long though, she knew. With the college educated mother and crafty, canny father he has, he willl know it's not true. Well she'd cross that road when she got to it.  
  
She hugged her precious child, her miracle close until he grunted to be let loose. When she released him he went and sat in front of the tv. Stacy wiped a tear. Suddenly she saw Otis before her, laughing. "My greatest work, princess," he taunted.  
  
Go away! she shouted in her mind._ Leave me alone!_ The vision dissipated, leaving her heart speeding like a runaway train. She still had tormenting hallucinations.  
  
_My greatest work..._


End file.
